The heavy oak door of our bedchamber at Ashford Castle clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the tourney, but not the lingering taste of ash in my mouth. I sighed, letting my shoulders drop as I looked around the room, which was unusually tidy for having a young boy in it.

You were on your knees near the window, carefully collecting the small wooden knights and dragons our son had scattered across the rug. I watched you for a moment, admiring the quiet, hands-on grace with which you mothered him. It was a stark, comforting contrast to the highborn ladies who usually left such duties to a phalanx of nurses and septas. You didn't need them. You were the heart of this home.

"They are durable, thankfully," I said softly, my voice weary, as I stepped forward and picked up a wooden horse, placing it into your basket. "Though I fear Aerion would find a way to break them, too."

You looked up, sensing the foul mood that I had tried to leave at the lists. I sank into a chair near you, rubbing my temples.

"He is a stain on our house," I said, the measured tones of the Hand of the King giving way to a rare, biting frustration. "Did you see it? I wanted to look away, but I could not. I sat there, and I… I lowered my head in absolute disgust."

Looking out the window, I stare thoughtful at the distant, brightly colored tents. "To aim so low... it was no mishap. A beast is blameless, yet he drove his lance straight into the stallion's breast, until it exploded out the back of the neck in a gout of blood. To deliberately butcher a horse, just to unseat a better man… it is not merely against the rules of the lists, my lady. It is a cruelty unworthy of a hedge knight, let alone a prince of the blood. The crowd… they didn’t just cheer for Ser Humfrey; they threw stones and roared their hatred for Aerion until the Kingsguard had to step in. It was a disgrace to the very name Targaryen."

I turned back to you, my eyes serious. "I had my fears, you know. I feared he would act with such dishonor, but to see it… it confirmed my worst suspicions about what Maekar has fostered."

I took a deep breath, calming myself, the intellectual and composed side of me taking over. “I authorized Lord Ashford to strip Aerion of his own warhorse and give it to Ser Humfrey Hardyng as compensation. It was the least that could be done for such a brutal, unchivalrous act; intentionally killing a mount to fell a rider. Aerion is furious, of course. He believes his blood gives him immunity from the laws of chivalry. But I am Hand of the King, and as long as I draw breath, honor will not be sacrificed for the whims of a narcissistic child.”

I stopped, realizing I had been rambling, and crouched down beside you, putting a gentle hand on your arm. "Enough of my grievances. Tell me, how was your day? Did you manage to escape the politics of the ladies' tent?" I smiled gently, the ”rare spirit” of the man you married shining through the fatigue. "I hope you had some peace."